A Step Too Far
by raindropsonroaches
Summary: 24 tributes prepare for death, but when death prepares for them first, they stop fighting for their own lives and start fighting for each other's.
1. Chapter 1

**I wrote this as a Christmas gift for a friend of mine and decided to share it here too! I hope you enjoy it! Xx.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. **

* * *

She heard the countdown, saw her fellow tributes running towards the Cornucopia, and then into the woods, slaughtering as many people as they could along the way. It made her sick. How could she do this? She felt she would never make it back to Prim. She took took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them only when a friendly hand clasped her shoulder. She turned her face toward Peeta Mellark, and saw in his eyes the same fears, the same dread. She nodded slightly, not breaking their gaze, and then slowly turned her head, staring back at the Cornucopia she knew held their weapons of choice. Finally stepping down from the pedestal that had brought her into this hell, she took Peeta's hand and began to back away from the golden monstrosity where the others were rapidly massacring each other. They would get their weapons, but not today. Today, they would simply survive.

As the two disappeared into the woods, Katniss thought back on the promise in Peeta's eyes, and silently vowed to keep a promise of her own. Should either of these tributes die, they wouldn't go down alone.

* * *

They set up camp in a small cave the pair had found. Katniss had disguised the entrance, and for now they were safe. Neither said anything. Peeta pulled Katniss close to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder as they sat on the cold cave floor. Katniss knew Peeta loved her, and she knew she wasn't coming out of this. So why not let herself love him too? Closing her eyes, she thought about all of the things she'd never do, the people she wouldn't be returning to. The world was ugly, she thought.

Nightfall came, and the two moved outside to watch the faces of the dead fly through the sky. There were nine faces that night, and both tributes were thankful not to be seeing the other on the screen. As the last face appeared, Katniss straightened where she sat, slapping a hand on Peeta's chest.

"She had the bow and arrow. I have to find it." Peeta looked to her and slowly stood, holding a hand out for her to take. He knew she was right. And so they went, off to find the bow, hoping not to die along the way.

* * *

They looked everywhere. They spent two days combing the aren and the bow was nowhere to be seen. To better things, they hadn't eaten since the day they had arrived. Finally giving up, Katniss and Peeta came to a halt in the middle of the woods. Running a hand through his hair, Peeta huffed and mumbled,

"Somebody has it, then. Someone killed her and took the bow."

That was bad news. Very bad news. Dangerous news.

"Then we have to find them," Katniss stated solemnly. Peeta knew she was right. Without a weapon they didn't stand a chance here. Death was inevitable, but they were going to fight it as long as they could.

"We should eat first, and rest. We've been up for days and we need to be strong if we have to go up against someone else. It can wait, Katniss. What's one more day?"

The question aggravated Katniss. What's one more _day? _One more day could cost them their _lives. _ Did that really mean so _little_ to Peeta?

Peeta saw the thoughts unraveling in her mind, and before they could get too far, he grabbed both of her wrists, causing her to meet his gaze. Her dark eyes were angry in her olive-toned face, and she tried to jerk away from him.

"It won't do _either_ of us any good to go after whoever has that bow unprepared. We can't just _lay down our lives_ on the third day of the games. We have to at least _try_ to come out of this, Katniss. For our families. And if not for our families, then for each other."

And Peeta was determined that Katniss would come out of this alive. He was going to do his best to get her out of there, even if he had to be left behind.

She was silent for a moment, and Peeta worried she would go after the bow anyways, right then. If that happened, he'd have to go with her. Fortunately, she gave a released a deep breath, her shoulders slumping, and leaned into him, murmuring, "Okay. One more day. One day, and then we'll find it."

Peeta sighed in relief as he wrapped his arms around her, and carefully, the two began to make their way back to the cave.

But then Prim was there, standing in front of them, and Peeta's brother, and they were running towards them. Katniss was terrified. This is exactly what she had been trying to avoid when she had volunteered in Prim's place, but now she was there, they were both there, and as Prim and Peeta's brother raced towards the dumbstruck couple, an arrow flew through the woods, hit Prim in the arm, and another pierced the knee of Peeta's brother. And there were more arrows and then rocks being thrown too, and as Katniss and Peeta ran forward to protect their loved ones, they found themselves dodging the lethal weapons. The tributes screamed their siblings' names as they made their way towards them, faces pale, eyes panicked and burning with tears. When they reached their family members, the rain of weapons stopped.

Katniss held Prim in her arms, horrified by the amount of blood she was losing as the young girl frantically tried to pull arrows from her skin, but they were barbed and she was only making her own injuries worse. Katniss whispered desperate comforts into her ear and tried hard, so, so hard, to find a solution, to fix this, to save her, but she was at a loss for thoughts, for words, for anything that wasn't a feeling of absolute terror.

"Help me, Katniss, please, it hurts," Prim gasped, her breath becoming uneven and shallow. The girl shook in her sister's arms as Katniss choked, "Prim, why are you here?"

"The bow…" Prim garbled, "You didn't take it so-"

"So what? _Prim_? Prim, _no!" _

But it was too late for the young girl. Katniss watched as the life drained from her sister's eyes, as her body fell slack, and her lips fell open. She screamed her name, shook her, tried to bring her back to life. But it was no use. The archer shook as she cradled her dead sister in her arms, and took a moment to glance over at Peeta. His brother was still alive, but he was gasping just as Prim had.

"We brought it- brought-"

"What did you bring?" Peeta murmured, tears in his eyes as he held his older brother close.

"The bow," his brother whispered, voice strangled as he struggled to speak around the blood pooling in his throat. Peeta's brother tried to move his arm, tried to reach behind him and remove the bow that had been strapped there by none other than Mr. Seneca Crane, the game maker.

Peeta took in a sharp breath as he saw the weapon strapped to his brother, choking a quiet, "Oh, God," before beginning to cry soft apologies as his brother too, passed on. He clutched his brother to his chest for a few moments, sobbing openly, before he carefully reached behind his brother's back and withdrew the bow he and Prim had been forced to present to them.

Katniss watched him do it, and when she realized what had happened, she covered her face with her hands. This was horrible. This was awful. This was _her fault._ She hadn't gone to the Cornucopia, hadn't fought for her weapon of choice, had chosen to gone unprotected. And so the Capitol had sent it to her, directly attached to her worst nightmare. They wanted to see her fight, to see her die. She recalled Peeta's words _"We have to at least _try_ to come out of this, Katniss. For our families." _Well, now, Katniss had no family left to live for. She knew her mother, depressed as she may seem, would never let the Capitol take her second daughter without a fight. Not when they had already condemned her first one. And neither would Gale. God, he was probably gone too. And Peeta's family- she couldn't bear to think about it. She knew the Capitol had taken whoever would have the largest effect. She knew there were no survivors. So the two tributes were alone in the world. No one was out there for them besides each other. As the two sat crying, sitting back to back with their relatives in their arms, a small parachute came down from the sky, landing beside them. Hesitant to open it, both stared at it for a while. Katniss didn't want to touch it. She didn't want a gift, any gift, from anyone, especially not the Capitol.

Slowly, Peeta reached out to it, his blood covered hands slipping around the silver canister attached to the parachute as he attempted to open it. Finally, he extracted a small piece of paper from the gift, a note. He read it and flung it away from himself, his tears coming faster as he began to repeat himself.

"No," he said, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Over and over, _no, no, no. _He shook his head violently, trying to forget he had ever read the words, tried to deny what was happening. He held his brother tight to him, remembering all the times they'd had together, like when his brother had taught him how to make a baguette, or the long hours they had once spent laughing together, just enjoying each other's company. And now he was gone, his whole family, probably, and the Capitol, they wanted- he couldn't think the words.

Slowly, Katniss reached out for it, picked it up, tried to ignore the blood stains Peeta's fingers had left. If she had thought this situation couldn't get worse, she was wrong. So wrong. She felt like she was drowning, she was absolutely appalled. They had killed her family, _Peeta's_ family, and now- She shuddered. She must have misunderstood the words, read them the wrong way. But she hadn't, no, and she wanted to vomit, or just to die, as her sister had.

It was a note from Haymitch.

_I'm so sorry,_ it said, _I tried _so hard_ to stop them. _

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, I'm so, _so_, sorry. _

_Take the arrows. _

_-H_

Take the arrows. The Capitol wanted her to take the arrows, wanted her to rip them from the dead bodies of her fellow citizens of District 12, wanted her to mutilate her sister to save herself. She couldn't do it. How could she do it? How could they _expect her to do it?_

Katniss and Peeta sat there for hours, almost hoping someone would find them, but the Capitol had placed a shield around them for the time being. They were _going_ to do this. There was no way out this time around.

Eventually, Peeta shifted onto his knees, and gently laying his brother before him, began his attempt to pull the arrows from his kin. He was making no progress, was only further damaging what was left of his brother. He tried desperately to pull them from his sibling, tears rolling down his face as he did so, and for a while all Katniss could do was watch.

"Peeta," she finally whispered, "Peeta, stop."

The blonde looked back at her, his eyes hollow, but his expression angry.

"They killed him, Katniss, killed both of them! I won't sit here and let them die in vain." As he said it, he continued to tug at the arrows, but they wouldn't budge, wouldn't move. Katniss sat, shaking her head as Peeta spoke, her breath coming in gasps as she started to choke again.

"Peeta, _stop_."

He whirled on her, ready to tear her to pieces if she told him to just let his brother lie there, but when he saw the look on her face, he knew whatever she had to say was much worse.

"You have to push them through," she finally said, and Peeta felt he would faint. How was it possible that this just kept getting _worse? _

Fresh tears coming to Peeta's eyes, he swallowed hard as he gave a nod, and then Katniss too, gently rolled her sibling onto the ground in front of her, beginning with the arrows in her poor sister's arms. It was hard work, bloody work, work that would haunt them for the rest of their lives no matter how short they may be. The two worked for hours, pushing and prodding and crying, always crying. When they had finished they were filthy, covered in so much blood they wanted to die right then and there. But just as soon as they finished, they heard the hum of a hovercraft approaching to take away the bodies of their loved ones.

Her tears having run dry, Katniss tucked the note inside the tight material of her shirt, and then bent down to hold her sister one last time. She separated Prim's hair into three segments, re-braiding the long golden locks that had been cut loose by one of the many arrows that had caused her death. When she had finished, she unpinned the Mockingjay pin from the outfit she had been forced to wear, and clipped it gently to the collar of the soft pink dress Prim had worn. Caressing her sister's face, Katniss leaned forward to place a loving kiss on her cheek, and then her sister was being torn from her arms by a peace keeper and thrown roughly into the hovercraft's lift. The tributes watched as their kin were lifted into the hovercraft, and as they went, they raised their hands in a three fingered salute. All across Panem, people did the same.

* * *

From then on, Katniss and Peeta were determined to win. If the Capitol wanted a fight, it was a fight they would get. Only it wouldn't be a fight, it would be a _war_. And not between tributes, between the people and their rulers. This was the end for the Capitol. It had been decided. Decided not only by Katniss and Peeta, but by District 12, by their fellow tributes, by the whole country of Panem.

While the District 12 tributes had been forced to tear their loved ones apart, the world had been forced to watch. The Districts, the Capitol, past victors, current sponsors, they had all seen it. Even the tributes who remained in the arena had been made to stand just out of sight, held in place by separate shields that had surrounded them for hours as they watched the sad scene between the citizens of the coal-mining district. And as Katniss and Peeta cried, something shifted within the citizens of Panem. This wasn't okay. This was wrong. The Games had finally gone too far.

And so when the hovercraft had gone and the shields had finally been lifted to release the tributes, those who had been forced to watch stepped out of their foxholes and into the sunlit area where Peeta and Katniss stood. The couple on fire looked at the tear stained faces of those around them, saw the hard resolve that festered in their eyes, and as the others offered salutes of their own, Katniss and Peeta joined hands, moving to stand between the tributes of District 4. As the rest of the tributes followed their lead, a circle was formed, and the fifteen remaining contestants of the Hunger Games made a silent vow to take the Capitol down swinging. But first, they had to get out of this arena.

* * *

Prim didn't know where she was, but she wasn't alive. She was, however, looking down on her sister, on her friend Peeta, on the outraged citizens who occupied her former country. She smiled as she took in the fierce look on her sister's face. She knew that if anyone could do this, it was Katniss. The girl on fire would set the world ablaze. And the boy on fire, he would help.

* * *

They stopped fighting and started searching. The fifteen allies found all the edible food they could, gathering berries, leaves, squirrels, for days and days, staging small battles to "keep the Games going." Currently, three tributes sported fake injuries. To the game makers, they knew, it looked like they had created a series of alliances that overlapped and conflicted. The game makers were waiting for this to come to light, for a _true_ massacre to begin. But everyone else was waiting for a plan, a signal, anything to start the revolution. They were ready, from the Capitol to the "lost" Thirteenth District, Panem was readying itself to starve the government to death.

And it would start exactly where it would end: in District 12, where it belonged.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

* * *

Haymitch was ready. He had Plutarch and the rest of the mentors on his side. Currently, he was sending in Finnick O'Dair. He had been a former tribute, and harbored a great deal of resentment for the games. Seneca Crane, however, liked him quite a bit, and the friendship Finnick feigned with him was going to be coming in quite handy _quite_ soon.

The mentors walked into the dining hall, prepared for the grand meal President Snow had called for when he saw that the entangling alliances of the tributes were about to tear them apart. They were faking love triangles and fierce battles, dressing false wounds, shedding true tears. And President Snow was eating it up. Seneca Crane could not have been more pleased with how the Games had gone. He couldn't quite understand what had happened after Prim and the other Mellark boy had died, but he figured the gestures made then didn't matter now. The tributes were all on the brink of disaster, and Seneca couldn't _wait_.

This dinner was in his honor. President Snow had clapped him on the back and raised his glass as the meal had begun, and called proudly, "To the most successful Hunger Games yet!" Finnick and Haymitch had rolled their eyes, and then Haymitch had given Finnick a nearly imperceptible nod.

Finnick was looking forward to this. A revolution! It was long overdue. He was going to play the biggest part he could. He was going to avenge his innocence, his childhood, the life that could have been. He'd lived in fear for years before the Hunger Games, and for years after. The nightmares never ended. The guilt never went away. The savagery instilled within a victor never disappeared. And now Finnick was going to do something about it.

He approached Seneca Crane with a smile, pulling him into a warm hug before greeting him amiably.

"Seneca, lovely! Wonderful job, this time around! Couldn't think of a better way to do things!"

The game maker grinned, pleased to see his friend. As Finnick slurred praises for him, Seneca laughed to himself. Of course the young blonde was tipsy, as always. He simply had to wait for the key phrase.

"Would you like to share a secret?" Finnick finally mumbled, eyes bright as he looked into Seneca's eyes. Seneca gave a sly smile and a curt nod.

Finnick lead Seneca from the room and into the large area where Panem's tributes trained. He was disgusted to be there. He'd hated this room. _Hated_ it. And he hated it still. But more than anything else in the room, he hated Seneca Crane. He'd been the game maker for _years_. He had designed the very Game that Finnick lived again every night in his sleep. And now, it was going to stop.

As soon as Seneca had passed through the door, he heard Haymitch lock it from the outside. Finnick smiled at the metallic click, and turning to face Seneca, he stumbled towards the center of the room.

"So, Seneca _Crane_," he babbled, "If _you_ were in the Hunger Games, which weapon here would you choose?"

Seneca was a little surprised by the question, but he payed it no mind. Maybe it would be part of Finnick's routine for the night. As such, he thought a moment, taking in the various weapons. Knives, swords, arrows, every weapon imaginable and he couldn't find one to suit him. So finally he said,

"Finnick, love, I'd never need a weapon. I make the Games. I don't play them." Anger and resentment flared through the former victor at the ignorant man's words. He had to struggle to keep calm.

"True, I suppose. Can I tell _you_ a secret?" Finnick smiled, straightening where he stood and dropping his drunken facade. Seneca was, again, surprised by the actions of young Mr. O'Dair, but didn't question them. Finnick had always been a funny one. He nodded at the blonde, and he continued, his face shifting into an expression Seneca found rather menacing.

"If I were thrown back into the Hunger Games," he drawled, "I might like to try a bow and arrow." As he said so, he strolled to the weapons rack and drew from it the aforementioned weapon, running his hand down the curve of the bow.

"I'm not sure I'd be good at it," he laughed, turning to face his naive little "friend," "but I think I could manage!" With a bright smile he drew back an arrow, pointing it towards Seneca Crane.

"Actually, to tell another secret, I've had a fair amount of _practice_ recently. _Just_ for this moment."

Seneca didn't understand. What was going on? Slowly, Finnick stalked towards the confused murderer, and the murderer moved backwards until Finnick had him caught in a corner.

"No escaping now, Seneca. Time for retribution."

"I don't- Finnick, what are you doing?" Seneca stood with his arms up. He was defenseless, his face was pale, and his eyes were wide and scared. Finnick, however, looked powerful, and angry. His bright eyes were hateful as he stared the game maker down.

"What you've _done_ to us, to all of the _tributes_, to the _Mellark_ boy, to that _little girl,_ Seneca. You're going to Hell for that. And I'll be _damned_ if I'm not the one who sends you there. You went too far, Mr. Crane. You've been going too far for _years_. But this is _it_ for you, friend. So, tell me, how does it feel," he paused, "to be _Primrose Everdeen?"_

Seneca's face drained of all remaining color at that point, and without hesitation, Finnick released the first arrow. He watched in pleasure as it lodged itself deep in the cruel man's shoulder.

"_Please_, Finnick, don't do this, I'm _sorry_, please, Finnick, _please_," Seneca begged, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Finnick laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound, and the words that followed were a sneer.

"'_Sorry'_ isn't making anybody less _dead_, Seneca. _Especially_," he launched another arrow, "not _you_."

Finnick kept at it, and eventually Seneca looked like a regular practice target. When the blonde finally ran out of arrows, Seneca seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He was injured, certainly, but not dead. Finnick saw the tension leave the eyes of his victim, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin as he moved forward to stand face to face with his target.

"Oh, but don't forget, love," he breathed, placing a mocking kiss on the man's cheek, "_You have to push them through." _And Finnick did. He pushed every single arrow in Seneca Crane straight out the other side, taking joy in the whimpers and moans the pathetic man let out as he did so. As he placed a hand on the shaft of an arrow that had lodged itself shallowly, just over Seneca's heart, he met the man's eyes. Fear was met with an almost inhuman hatred, a wrath so strong, so fierce, that Seneca's weak body began to shake, to quiver, to tremble. Finnick wasn't going to change his mind. He was going to end this. Seneca Crane was really going to die. Not breaking the heated gaze, Finnick applied as much force as he could to the last arrow, and smiled in pleasure as he heard the satisfying pop of the arrow coming out the other side. The force with which the victor had shoved the arrows through his opponent had subsequently pinned the wretch to the wall, and Finnick laughed at the sight. While he had never really been one to enjoy killing, this was one death he was glad he'd caused. As he began to walk towards the door, he spotted a stray arrow that had somehow fallen away when he had taken the rest, and now, he bent to pick it up.

"Hm," he muttered, "Looks like I missed one." He giggled a bit as he shot the arrow straight between the dead game maker's eyes. After forcing it deep into Seneca's skull, Finnick finally knocked on the door, which was quickly opened by the chivalrous Haymitch Abernathy. Taking a glance inside the room, the older man clapped Finnick on the back when he saw Seneca hanging limp on the wall, murmuring a light hearted, "Job well done."

And it was.

* * *

From then on, Plutarch Heavensbee acted as the game maker, which proved beneficial to the people's cause. Plutarch couldn't _stand_ the Games. They were inhumane and simply awful, and he couldn't wait to _end_ them, to give the current tributes a way _out_.

It didn't take long. His bet was on Rue, the young girl from District 4. She was smart. Observant. And she had Katniss to help her.

The first thing he did was weaken the walls around the arena. All it would take was an arrow, and the whole thing would crumble. Then he put shields around the tributes, so that when it did, they'd be safe. And the trickiest part, he thought, was the Jabber Jays. He sent them whispers, directions, certain instructions for certain birds, and certain birds for certain people.

But he had to hide it all from Snow, who watched him constantly. Lucky for him, Snow was an idiot.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Changing the appearance of the arena's walls. Something more intimidating. Adding a bit of electricity maybe," Plutarch had responded, changing the "wallpaper" and lowering the arena's defenses.

"Show me," Snow said, and Plutarch sent a leaf drifting toward the wall. He then electrified the leaf, and Snow watched as it turned black and fell into bits of ash.

"Impressive," he had sighed.

"The birds," Snow asked, "What are you using them for?"

"I'm sending whispers to the tributes," Plutarch muttered, "Family's voices, accusations. Different messages for different tributes." And he had played a recording of Prim's screams for Snow, who leaned back in his chair and asked himself why he hadn't put Plutarch in place sooner.

The birds could only carry a message of about six words, and so Plutarch had to program them into the Game by flocks. Snow was only further impressed, while Plutarch questioned how the man had ever run a country.

The day Plutarch released the first set of birds, Rue was sitting in a tree, keeping watch for Peeta and Katniss, who had apparently needed some time alone. They had rumors to fuel, didn't they?

Snow watched as the birds descended upon the young girl, who screamed as they surrounded her and did her best to fake a tumble from the tree she was in. When she hit the ground she lay silently, her head turned to the side and her eyes closed as though she were unconscious, and listened to what the birds had to say as they poked gently at her while they whispered their words.

A half hour or so after the birds had gone away, she slowly opened her eyes, letting out a groan as she screamed hysterically for Katniss. She had some news to tell.

* * *

Later that night, Katniss laid down beside Peeta, taking his hand and hiding her face in his shoulder as she smiled. The birds were brilliant. Plutarch was brilliant! He had reprogrammed the birds to carry a word at a time, and so while the viewers were unable to decipher which birds were speaking when or what they were supposed to be saying, the tributes were able to pick out the message loud and clear. All they had to do was cry, or plead, or beg the birds to go away, to pretend they were tormenting them with sounds of their families dying, or their friends screaming out in pain.

They had a plan.

The day they were to escape, Haymitch would send Katniss a gift. It would carry a sling, supposedly to give to Rue, who had "dislocated her shoulder" when she fell form the tree.

And then Katniss would whistle and the Jays would spread the song. The tributes would meet at the Cornucopia, and would split up into two groups: the one that would storm the Capitol, and the one that would be heading to District 13, where the revolution was being organized and controlled. Katniss would take down the arena, and they'd all be taken up by hovercrafts.

They would have to hope for the best from there.

When the day finally came, Peeta passed the gift that had fallen between them to Katniss, and she opened the small container, pulling out the sling the Jabber Jays had promised.

On the inside was a note to all the tributes, and Katniss laughed harshly at the sentiment.

_May the odds be ever in your favor._

She passed the sling to Peeta, who smiled at the inscription, before gently helping position the sling on Rue. Katniss grabbed Peeta's hand as he picked up Rue and the three made their way quickly toward the Cornucopia.

When she arrived, Katniss gave a soft whistle, which was repeated by Rue, and then Peeta as the three split up briefly to whistle the tune at various edges of the woods.

And then the birds started. To the viewers at home, what happened next looked like a giant flock of Mockingjays chasing the tributes toward the center of the arena, most likely to flush the tributes out of the woods, to cause some action, and they were probably all surprised when the birds dissipated and the tributes began to greet each other warmly as they came into the clearing.

When they had all assembled, Katniss smiled to herself, looking around at the people around her. They were all rebels, now, or they would be, as soon as this arena blew up. She saw the determination on their faces, the glimmering hope in their eyes, and she was proud to stand with them.

As Katniss raised her bow to finally destroy the weakened prison, her fellow tributes raised their, hands in the three fingered salute that everyone knew so well. Snow was outraged. And then he was dead.

* * *

The arena blew to pieces and the tributes leapt into action as the whir of the Capitol's hovercrafts reached their ears.

Half of them went left and the other half to the right. Katniss and Peeta paused in the middle. They were splitting up for this, and neither quite wanted to go. But it was necessary. Both were determined to avenge their families, and if this was how it had to be done, then so be it, it was what they would do.

They kissed briefly, muttering quick goodbyes before they were separated by the hovercrafts above them.

As Katniss was lifted into the air, she held tightly onto her bow. She had some _hunting_ to do.

* * *

Three tributes had been lifted onto this hovercraft: Katniss, Thresh, and Cato. All three were strong fighters, and Katniss was relieved. She was also pleased to see none other than Plutarch Heavensbee walking quickly towards them, his face grave and his action fast paced, hurried.

"This hovercraft is reporting back to Snow. We have to crash it. He has to think you're all dead."

"What are you- what?" Katniss stuttered. That hadn't been part of the plan.

"You three," Plutarch muttered, "are the Assassination Squad. You're going to kill the President, and then somehow, we will have to appoint a new one."

The tributes were stunned. They had not agreed to this, they had _never_ agreed to this. They wanted Snow dead, of course, but they didn't want to be the ones to do it.

Because doing it, killing Snow- there was a high chance they would die during the process. And they had people to live for now, a Revolution to lead!

But they would do it nonetheless. because honestly, dying to kill Snow was a death worth having suffered.

* * *

He went into hiding. Snow had disappeared, and the hunt for him had been ongoing for months. Meanwhile, civilians were rioting against Peace Keepers, Peace Keepers were rioting against themselves, and the whole country was slipping into chaos. It was beautiful.

Except that all of Panem was pining over Katniss. She had supposedly died in a hovercraft accident, when it had abruptly ceased to hover. It hit the ground, exploded, killed everyone inside. A lot of people were having trouble coping with that. It had been her tears for her sister, and Peeta's tears too, that had begun this war, and the fierce determination she had displayed afterwards that kept it going. And it was the need to avenge her death, the death of Prim, of Peeta's brother, of every tribute, every victim of the Capitol, that would lead the people to win.

And besides, they still had Peeta. He'd been playing the lovestruck teen who was distraught by the death of his soul mate, and he had to admit, the sadness wasn't hard to fake. All he had to do was imagine his family, his brother, Prim, God, poor Prim, and tears would come to his eyes and he would give a speech about freedom, about justice, about _life_.

Panem was eating it up.

Katniss, while alive, had not been heard from since the last day of the Games. She was tracking Snow, trying to find him, trying to bring forth the last piece of the puzzle. If they killed Snow, his people would crumble without him, and Panem would be free. No more violence, no more hunger, and especially no Games.

Peeta was getting nervous. He didn't know how much longer the rest of them would hold up if Snow wasn't found soon. He had to be dead before injustice could die. And he missed Katniss. He wanted her to come home soon.

She was about to. Dead or alive.

* * *

She had finally found him. Katniss Everdeen, after eight months of searching, had located President Snow. Her only problem was that she was facing him alone.

The girl honestly hadn't expected to stumble upon the man. Plutarch had dropped her off in District 12 for the day, undercover, alone, and armed with her signature bow and arrow.

She had requested to return to her home District that day. She wanted to see if anyone she knew- anyone she loved- had survived.

She searched the mayor's house for signs of Madge, and Gale's old residence for any trace of his family. She looked in the bakery Peeta's family had once shared, but new people now occupied all of these places. She went out into the woods to see if Gale had left her a note, a sign, anything to say he was safe. He hadn't.

On her trek through the woods Katniss stopped to discard the bow that had killed her sister, drawing from it only a single arrow to fire with the bow she had used so often before she had volunteered as a tribute. As she threw the wicked bow to the ground, she sighed in relief. She hated carrying that with her, a tangible piece of her worst memory.

And now she carried a single arrow. She would shoot it from the bow that Prim had helped her and her father build, and it would kill the man who had slaughtered her family and her friends, her sense of normalcy, her youth. He would die as Prim had died, and she would take pleasure in doing it. She supposed this train of thought was one of the reasons she got along so well with one such Finnick O'Dair.

She lost herself in her thoughts, and then decided she may as well make her way back to her old home, the only place she hadn't searched for part of what she considered her family. Her mother and sister were dead and she knew it. There was little point in bothering with it.

However, she thought, there was a possibility that some of their old family tokens remained there, and so she walked slowly to her former place of residence. She knew she would never again call it "home."

You can imagine how surprised she was to enter her old house, only to be greeted by a rather startled fugitive of war.

President Snow. He was there. In her house, where her father, and her mother, and her sister had lived. He had killed all of them, all three of them, and now he sat where they had once slept, casually flipping through what looked like an old photo album.

Katniss startled him as she hissed,

"Long time no see, Mr. Snow."

The old man jumped a bit, his head snapping upwards and his eyes widening in his skull as he took in the girl who stood before him. He had given his Peace Keeper guard the day off, as nothing had threatened him in ages, and of course, here was Katniss Everdeen, glowering at him, with a single arrow by her side.

Smiling pleasantly, the man stated his agreement,

"A long time indeed, Miss Everdeen. Quite a bit of trouble you've caused here, you think?"

Katniss' response was not kind. She wasn't going to play into the friendly facade. She was going to kill this man, and this war was going to _end_.

She didn't speak, just raised her bow, and whispered harshly, "This is it Snow. Goodbye."

And as she loosed the arrow, President Snow loosed a bullet, and he smiled to himself as he thought his last,

"Very well. An eye for an eye."

* * *

The war was over, and Katniss was dead, but it was an eye for an eye, as Snow had said. But this sacrifice that Katniss made lead to a new age of giving, and kindness, and aid. Panem mourned her loss- _oh_, how she'd _died!_ Though more than this, Panem owed her their lives.


End file.
